


worth the weight in gold

by ivelostmyspectacles



Series: TMA High School AU [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awkwardness, Canon Asexual Character, Casual Sex, Grief/Mourning, M/M, they're both hopeless but they work well together!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 15:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20360566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: “I’m not averse to having sex with you,” Jon says, even as his face flares up warm. He says the words into Tim’s hair on the off-chance anyone happens by. “If you’re still interested.”[Set followingno one ever told me.Post high school.]





	worth the weight in gold

There is something about being the one to make the proposition, and Jon… doesn’t like it. But the tea he’s made is getting cold. He tries to put his thoughts in order, and then starts down the hallway.

Tim’s at the old, weathered desk, curled over a mountain of folders and a small pad full of notes he’s making as he goes. It’s still a bit jarring to see him there, poring over the reports that he and Martin have been assigned to as well at this job.

It’d been a few weeks now since he’d suddenly messaged their sporadically used group chat and asked if the Institute was hiring. None of them had really had the courage to ask why he wanted to work there, all of a sudden, when he ought to have been home, taking time to himself after his brother’s disappearance. They hadn't had the heart to ask, either. And Jon, at least, understood the need for distractions.

Elias had hired him, and Tim had been working like a man possessed since then. It wasn’t terribly uncommon to see Tim work hard– they had all, more or less, been _ good _ students in school– but… well, Jon supposed it didn’t matter. It had seemed to be good for Tim to be busy. He’d even been smiling, a bit. 

This had all been before the party at his place the other day.

Now is the first time their part-time schedules have matched up this week. Jon goes to Tim’s desk, and leans over his shoulder to put the mug of tea down on the hard wood.

Tim’s been jumpy the past few weeks; he breaks the lead on his pencil and then stares at the mug like it’s something it’s not, or that he expects it might hold more answers than he can see. This stretches on, and on, up until the point Jon eventually has to clear his throat from where he’s standing behind him.

Tim looks up. “What’s this for?”

“To drink, I’d imagine.”

He doesn’t know if it’s his dry tone, or just the moment catching up. Tim relaxes, and then smiles, and Jon watches as the corners of his mouth twitch up, just a little. Something about that is… more endearing these days than in the past. Jon suspects it’s the fact that he wants to make Tim smile, these days, and right now, happiness from him is worth its weight in gold.

No, Jon is not usually prone to such poetry– that’s Martin’s forte, nevermind the talent (or lack thereof)– but… it has been a long few weeks.

“Sorry, right,” Tim says, and lifts the mug off the desk. “That’s just usually a Martin thing. Is he not in?”

“He is.” Somewhere, but Jon doesn’t exactly know. It seems like they still miss each other these days, unless they're actively seeking each other out. And Sasha had transferred from artefact storage, so they saw her even less. Sometimes, if they were lucky, they managed lunch in the break room or outside together, but their schedules were unpredictable and Jon liked to eat his lunch at his desk while he worked, anyway. “I think.”

“Oh. Cool. Thanks. I was just…” He looks back at his desk. It’s a mess, much like Jon’s (he just doesn’t seem to be able to stay organized.) “… getting in over my head, I guess,” Tim continues, and then shifts a stack of papers. The book he drops them atop of, Jon thinks it says something about… travelling circuses? But he doesn’t get a closer look, and he’s got bigger things to worry about than what task their bosses have him on. Propositions to make.

Before he can talk himself out of it, then. He aims for casual when he presses a kiss to the top of Tim’s head, but kissing apropos of nothing isn’t precisely casual to begin with, and Jon’s no good at it. He goes through with it, anyway, and Tim goes still again. He wonders what he’s thinking, almost, but it’s probably good that he doesn’t know.

“I’m not averse to having sex with you,” Jon says, even as his face flares up warm. He says the words into Tim’s hair on the off-chance anyone happens by. “If you’re still interested.”

He’s not. Averse to sex, that is. In theory, anyway. He doesn’t consider it a necessity by any means. None of it ever is. And there’s definitely things he likes doing better, but he doesn’t and hasn’t ever hated it. He’s always been comfortable with Tim, and that’s nice. He’d just been absolutely _ uninterested _in having it off in Danny’s bed.

Now, he just wants to let Tim know he isn’t upset by the thing, and that he’d… really like to make him happy, if possible. If having sex can make Tim happy, even for a little while, Jon’s willing. He even wants to.

So: a proposition. Even if he is very much out of his depth in making those sorts of things. But it’s done now, and Jon removes himself from Tim’s personal space, and fidgets with the buttons on his cuffs, nervous.

It takes a moment for Tim to thaw, but when he does, he just turns, and looks at Jon. Just looks. It’s unnerving. And then, “sorry, what was that?”

Jon huffs a breath, and looks at a point over Tim’s right shoulder. “I won’t say it again.”

“Are you letting me fuck you out of _ pity?” _ Tim asks sharply, suddenly, and his gaze gets more and more critical as he watches him.

Jon doesn’t think it’s that. Not exactly. He does… pity him, he thinks. Of course he does. Tim keeps saying Danny’s gone and Jon believes him, even without the proof. It’s just something in his voice, in his eyes. Danny isn’t coming back. But that isn’t exactly the point of the sex. He wants to make him happy. He wants to let him have fun, for awhile. And it isn’t as though it doesn’t benefit him. Sex _ does _ feel nice. Tim feels nice.

“I’m not _ letting _ you… fuck me,” he adds, begrudgingly, “period. It’s mutually beneficial. We’ve done it before.”

“I _ remember,” _ Tim retorts.

“Then you know the offer’s always on the table. More or less,” he says. “I’m just… initiating it. This time.”

“And sounding awkward as hell about it.”

“It _ is _ awkward.” He doesn’t mean to snap. But now Tim is defensive, and Jon… just wants the conversation to be settled, one way or the other. “I’m not good at this bit.” _ At any bit of it, _ he doesn’t say. Tim has said Jon’s _ good, _ which he doesn’t believe could possibly be true. But talking is almost more difficult than the actual sex itself. He thinks. “I’m just… we all can’t be masters at proposing things of sexual nature. I _ want _ us to feel good. Is that enough?”

“I…” Tim closes his mouth, looking like he's vaguely baffled by the word _ ‘good.’ _ Like he doesn’t understand what that is anymore. Jon aims to help him remember, he hopes. Tim looks at him, and then nods. Slowly, at first, like he can’t decide if he should be doing what he’s doing. But then a little more determined. “Yeah. Sure. Good enough. I’d like that, too. Getting outta my head a bit. Thanks,” he adds, a little awkward in his own right now.

Then, he clears his throat and takes another gulp of his tea. “My place or yours?” he asks, like this is a normal conversation, and they aren’t both off of their game.

“Mine,” Jon says immediately. He’ll be more comfortable. So will Tim, he thinks. “After work, er, eight-thirty?”

“Right… sounds good. I’ll be there.”

Jon nods. Repeats “right,” and fidgets again. He ultimately decides to leave Tim to drink his tea and go back to his own work, and pretend that this is a normal day at the Magnus Institute.

It’s easier to pretend these days.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Jon isn’t quite sure how to do this. Be… instigator and host. Is he supposed to shove Tim up against the wall now that he’s in his flat and kiss him? Tim had done it, once, to him, but Jon doesn’t think he’s capable of that sort of thing. And honestly, he’s not that fond on that type of kissing, anyway.

He’s zoning. He doesn’t notice until Tim nudges his shoulder, and smiles in a way that’s almost self-deprecating. But his eyes are kind, anyway. “You don’t have to try so hard, Jon, trust me.” Jon lets go of some kind of tension he’s been unaware of holding, and Tim continues. “We can just, you know, _ Netflix and chill, _ but without the sex. _ Actually _ Netflix and chill, if that’s all you want. Cuddling would be… good.” He says the words almost reluctantly, but smiles like he means it.

Jon believes him. He believes him, and trusts him, enough to slouch after him with more calm than he’s felt the entire day. “Cuddling would be good,” he agrees, and then, “but I’d like to kiss you. And… still have sex, preferably.” He catches sight of Tim’s good-natured exasperation, silent but writ heavy across his face. Jon sighs, put upon. _ “Fuck.” _ He enunciates on purpose. “Better?”

“I dunno.” He’s playing coy.

“Why do you take such offense to _ have sex?” _

“You sound way too uptight for a guy your age when you say _ ‘Hey, Tim, I’d like to have sex with you.’” _ Tim shrugs, and then runs his fingers through his hair. “But on that, though. Kissing, you said. I’d like–”

Jon does have to lean in on tiptoe to kiss him properly, but he manages to cut off him talking by doing just that.

Maybe instigating isn’t so bad. He still isn’t pushing him against the wall and kissing him like his life depends on it when it doesn’t, but this is good. His lips on Tim’s, uncertain motions that he’s familiar with when he lets himself thaw into the warmth of contact and something more. Tim is a good kisser, and it’s long, and slow, and they’re both a little out of breath when Jon pulls back.

Somehow, he’s managed to make Tim look slightly out of focus, which… isn’t exactly common. But things have been so strange, lately, so Jon suspects that’s more the reason than it is his own prowess at making out.

“That was… heh, that was a bit good, Jon. Well done.” For a fleeting moment, Tim grins. It is so brief and bright that it burns itself out almost immediately, but it had most definitely been there.

Oh, Jon wants to do that again. So he does.

They continue on for a bit this way, his hand at Tim’s neck and Tim’s fingers sliding and then tangling into Jon’s hair. And Tim is actually smiling, that kind of serene smile that isn’t the old class clown or occasional prankster at the Institute. A proper smile, Jon thinks, and he traces his fingers along the curve of Tim’s lower lip when he pulls back to catch his breath. He likes that smile.

Tim licks his fingertips, eyes full of mirth, and then grabs Jon’s hand when he tries to pull away from shock. “You’re stuck in your head again, Jon.” He places Jon’s hand against his jaw, and leans his head into it. “What’re you thinking about?”

Jon shrugs, passing his thumb along the hair behind Tim’s ear. “Your mouth.” Tim blinks. Jon hastily continues. “Er, I meant. Your… smile. I’m glad you’re smiling, actually.”

_ “Actually?” _ Tim repeats. “Are you generally _ not _ happy when I smile?”

“You know what I meant.”

The snarky response that Jon expects doesn’t come. Instead, Tim just smiles a little more. “Yeah, I got it. I’m glad, too.”

Oh. That’s oddly… cognizant. Jon blinks, and then takes Tim’s hand and pulls him out of the hall. He’s tired of standing, anyway, and bed sounds so much more comfortable.

It is.

He startles a bit when he slots a knee between Tim’s legs and finds him hard, but then maybe that’s more the noise Tim moans off against his mouth. He shouldn’t be surprised. Tim is neither silent nor apathetic. Jon, he’s not hard. He needs more… physical stimulation, in that department. Kissing is _ nice, _ he enjoys it in a controlled measure, but he’s never gotten hard over it. But it doesn’t matter. _ Tim _ is hard, and breathing hard, a bit, sucking a bruise that’ll be threat to show over the collared shirt. As for that, Jon can’t bring himself to mind much either this time.

He lets Tim cling to him, and bite his marks into Jon’s skin, and lets him rock more and more erratically against his thigh. When Tim turns his face to puff a breath into the blankets, Jon experimentally shifts his thigh up and in further. The response is so immediate that it makes Jon hide a smile into Tim’s collarbone; Tim’s hand snaps down to grab Jon’s knee, and he laughs, strained, into Jon’s hair.

“You’d better quit or I really will be coming in my pants like a teenager.”

Something about that makes the grin blossom, for a second, and then Jon carefully smooths that expression away. His voice still comes out a little pitched, as Tim slides his hand up to palm at his dick. “Take them off, then.”

“Sure.”

He only watches Tim shuck off his things for a moment, and then sits up to begin removing his own clothes. He doesn’t make a production of it, but Tim’s still watching him by the end. The flush that’s starting beneath Jon’s skin goes more pronounced. He swallows the flash of heat and reaches for Tim’s thigh. “You can touch me, too.”

“Dunno,” Tim says, but his hand does settle first on Jon’s knee, and then moves up along his thigh. It’s not teasing, precisely, and Jon appreciates it. He’s a freckle, just below and a fingers length to the right of his hip bone. Tim scrapes his nail against it, and continues. _ “Really _ like the idea of _ you _ touching _ me.” _

“I _ am _ touching you.”

“I was being smart.”

“Oh.” Jon rolls his eyes, and barely hesitates before wrapping his fingers along Tim’s length. “I’d rather be practical.”

“Practical– practical is good.” Tim grins. It does stay longer this time. But each smile is still a battle and they’re not far enough out of reality. Jon doubles down, and starts stroking to spread the slick. “I-like-practical,” Tim says on one breath, and smiles a little longer before he leans in to kiss him again.

Jon agrees. Practical is nice. Even if the motion is a bit different compared to having himself off on the odd occasion, but he _ is _ a research assistant. He likes to gather information and apply it.

It’s a few moments of this when he realizes Tim’s caution has turned to outright playfulness; it’s been a long while since Tim’s _ been _ playful. Jon appreciates that. What Jon doesn’t much appreciate is the way Tim’s hand steers just clear of touching his cock. He huffs into his mouth when his fingers dip into the crease of skin between thigh and groin. He outright complains when Tim’s hand passes by the base of his cock and then glides, warm and encompassing, up over his stomach instead.

“Tim.”

“Hmm?”

“I said you can touch me.”

“Yeah.” Tim rocks up into the circle of Jon’s fingers, and shrugs. “Didn’t say I _ had _ to.”

He’s going to kill him. As in, Jon is going to kill Tim. (Although, at this rate, it’s moot, and Tim may just murder Jon before he gets the chance. _ Edging _ never has been a favorite technique of his.) “Touch me,” he says, and only realizes the command behind the words too late.

“Yes, _ boss.” _

“I’m–” He gasps when Tim finally _ does, _ gliding two fingers along the underside of his dick. “– not your _ boss. _ We’re both assistants.”

“You’ve got seniority over me, though. You’ll be my boss one day, probably.”

Jon doesn’t know. There aren’t many opportunities to move up in the _ archiving _ world, but it pays the rent now that he’s on his own so he can’t complain too much. He can, however, complain at how _ light _ Tim’s touch is, and let his body jerk into the contact to chase a better feeling. 

It’s frustrating. It’s in a way that Jon thinks it’s supposed to be, but it still doesn’t exactly help. He’s seen porn. He’s heard the begging and pleading and he isn’t… at all… turned on by being the active participant in that, but the frustration _ must _ be right. It always happens around about the time he gets properly hard, or when Tim starts fondling his balls. Sometimes, those coincide.

He _ does _ like to hear Tim, though, when he’s close enough to orgasm to babble off all of that nonsense. Most of it is fluff, but Jon does feel quite warm when Tim says his name, raspy and out of breath as he does. Plus, there’s just something about being able to put Tim into that kind of daze, when Jon’s just _ Jon _ and Tim has been with far more… interesting people. But Jon can turn him into a witless idiot, too. So that’s a bit of a power high that Jon likes to chase, right alongside the orgasm.

Speaking of that. “Did you intend to give me a hand job, or were you properly going to fuck me?” He says that on purpose.

It does hit the mark. Tim sighs at his mouth, and then slips his fingers lower, prodding at the ring of flesh and muscle and Jon tenses up on reflex. “Both?” Tim asks, and nibbles at his lip. “Probably the thorough fucking first, if you’re down.”

“No, Tim, I’m very much up now.”

Tim _ laughs, _ a choked noise that doesn’t sound like he’s able to swallow down or crush against Jon’s mouth. “Yeah, I _ can _ tell. Me too. _ So. _ The fucking.”

“The lube’s on your side,” Jon says, and untangles himself from Tim so he can go collect it. In the meantime, Jon flops back into the pillows and shifts his hand to his own cock. Tim likes that. Watching. He’s a bit of a self-proclaimed voyeur, but Jon gets the appeal when it’s… someone you’re interested in. (ie not porn. He honestly _ hates _ porn.) Watching Tim get off has always been _ nice. _ So, Jon idly palms at his dick while he waits for Tim to find the lube stashed in the back of the bedside table drawer, and pretends he doesn’t go full body flush when Tim looks back at him the… the way he does.

Jon doesn’t really know that look. He’s not seen it enough to understand. He’s only seen it on Tim, actually, which… maybe isn’t saying a lot, since Tim is, as it stands, one of his _ only _ friends. It’s still a bit overwhelming, and Jon licks his lips and squirms. “Right then. The _ fucking,” _ he repeats.

“Let the fucking commence,” Tim says, sing-song, and that’s a beautiful thing, too.

… maybe there is a _ tiny _ bit of poetry in sex. Jon relents to the idea, and then gives in entirely, taken over by arousal and need and Tim’s hands against his skin.

It isn’t exactly a _ comfortable _ thing. Jon’s not very good at relaxing, and his chest is heaving by the time Tim slips in the third finger. If he hadn’t taken his glasses off, they’d be sliding down his face with the sweat. He’s not keen on making an idiot of himself, or making a mess of himself either, but Tim always manages to make him feel utterly debauched even before he breaches him properly. It’s embarrassing. And humiliating, in a way, although he forgets about it when he sinks into the moment and the shame doesn’t linger afterwards. Besides, it’s _ Tim. _ Tim is good. He trusts him.

He’s trying so hard to breathe that he doesn’t notice he’s stopped kissing him. At least, he doesn’t until Tim pulls back, going still except for that tiny motion. “Jon.”

He grunts a reply, and turns his face into Tim’s neck.

“Not too much.”

“No,” he manages. “Still very much green–” He gasps, high and breathless, when Tim slips his fingers free, and he’s left clenching around nothing but air, cold and empty. “Oh, goddamn you.” The curse slips out before he can stop it. Tim laughs, and Jon feels dizzy.

“Okay,” Tim says. “Just checkin’ you were still with me. C’mon.” He nudges his hip, and Jon tenses on the mattress again.

He’d had a thought, earlier, and meant to communicate it. Tim had impressed _ communicating _ upon him before they’d done anything, that first time, even if it wasn’t necessarily verbal communication. But, well. Honestly, he’d gotten distracted. And he’d forgotten. And now Tim’s prompting him to roll over and Jon thinks again that he’d… like to see Tim’s face. Watch. 

He doesn’t want to say it like that. “Er–”

“Hm?”

“I…” Right. Focus. He takes a breath and smooths his hand across the blankets. “Like this, right? It’s a… thing.”

“A thing.”

“Position,” Jon says, a bit exasperated. “We’ve… we did, once. Before. I’d rather that, today.”

“Okay,” Tim says simply. He tosses the lube aside and tilts his head in question. “Thought it hurt, though. The height difference, and your tiny legs–”

“It didn’t _ hurt.” _ It had been an… _ ache, _ from the strain of the position, but. “And my legs aren’t _ tiny. _ So long as we aren’t at it for ages.”

“Okay,” Tim repeats. “We won’t be at it forever, trust me.” He winks, then, and Jon doesn’t know whether to be flustered or wrinkle his nose in annoyance. He doesn’t do either, just fumbles for a pillow to try and take the strain off his back. “If it does start getting too much, though–”

“Yes, I know,” Jon interrupts. “Yellow, red.” His tone is crisp. He has, at least, never had to rely on the latter of the two.

“And now I’ll fuck you into the bed,” Tim says, sotto voce, and it takes Jon a minute to put the little rhyme together. When he does, he splutters in indignation. Then he finds other things to splutter over.

There’s intrigue to sex. He’s generally disinclined, but there’s no denying the sensations when they’re hitting you from a _ good _ angle. The sensation of fullness is… nice. (He isn’t good at these descriptive words.) Clenching around Tim is nice, especially when it drags another moan from Tim’s lips. And even Jon can’t help tiny little noises, a breath of air and a helpless _ “oh” _ when Tim gets him on a particularly deep thrust, and he fists his hands into the blankets and arches off the bed to meet into the feeling, but then Tim grins, wide and bright, and the intrigue of sex is only lessened by the intrigue of Tim looking _ happy. _

Jon loses himself, finally, a bit into the sensation and a bit more into the look on Tim’s face. For a second, he thinks Tim’s _ okay, _ and that maybe he’ll be okay in the future, too, if he can still smile like that, whatever the cause. And it’s kind of beautiful, in its way. The same sort of thing crosses his mind when Tim orgasms, the same kind of look on Tim’s face like things are still _ going to be alright. _Jon’s had a part in that, and that’s… rapture, in its own regard.

“Jesus,” Tim breathes, after.

Jon makes a noise of agreement, and then one of discomfort as Tim eases his legs down and goes to bin the condom. The height difference truly is hell sometimes. That asides, Jon hasn’t come yet; he never does, not unless he’s actively touching himself, but he never seems to manage both _ getting _ fucked and fucking his hand at the same time. Too much to process.

Now, having come into this with the intention of pleasing Tim (and himself, too, he adds it in his head before Tim can telepathically _ hear _ or something, he’s liked it, _ too, _ a lot) it almost feels _ selfish _ to ask now that Tim’s looking so… lax and satiated. So, maybe he’ll just–

“D’you want me to suck you off?”

The question is so _ simple, _ and Tim says it like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t send a chill down Jon’s spine, and like it doesn’t send heat radiating back up. “D’you _ want _ to…?” Jon manages to croak.

“Yeah.” And then Tim slides down and wraps his mouth around Jon’s cock like it’s _ still _ not a big deal.

Meanwhile, Jon full-body jerks and then utterly _ sags _ into the bed, raising both arms to throw across his face. _ “Christ.” _ Another knee-jerk reaction. Tim laughs, a thing Jon doesn’t hear but definitely _ does _ feel, all throaty vibrations that make him writhe in place. He’s been given oral approximately two times in his life, and he’s… well. Receptive about that, anyway. It’s _ nice. _

He doesn’t think he lasts a full ninety seconds, which ought to be embarrassing but isn’t. Tim pulls off, and licks his lips, and Jon can’t even be annoyed by it. (“Feels stupid making a production about spitting,” Tim had said, the first time. “I mean, if it _ bothers you, _ I can, but, you know.” A shrug, there. “It’s in my mouth, anyway, why bother _ not _ swallowing?”) Tim’s going to kiss him with that mouth, but he’ll let him.

And he does, in a short but emotional kiss. It’s almost too _ much, _after all of this, and Jon absolutely makes a noise of disgust when Tim settles down to curl into him.

“Ngh–”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Tim sounds unconcerned as he rolls onto his back, but still leaves a sliver of space between them, anyway. “Sorry. Shower?”

Jon is hot and sticky and absolutely _ never _ in the mood for cuddling immediately following sex. Cool water and a quick wash down comes first, where he can scrub the sweat from his scalp and the rest of any lingering… damp drying tacky to his skin. “Yes,” he agrees, and shoves his hair from his eyes. “Please. Thank you.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Not until Tim laughs at him, and Jon cracks an eye open to glare halfheartedly. “You know what I mean.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m _ hot.” _

“You are.”

_ “Stop.” _

“Oh, just c’mon.” 

Tim offers his hand once he rolls out of bed. Jon sighs, and smiles inwardly, and takes it.

The shower is a quiet affair. It’s nice, honestly. There’s distance between them even as they’re both in the shower together. Jon washes quickly, and methodically, and lets the dulled edges of his rationale slowly come back to him. He watches the soap suds swirl down the drain, taking the post-orgasmic haze with it. The water is heavenly. Jon closes his eyes, and tilts his head into the spray from the shower head.

He’s still so relaxed when Tim slips his arms around his waist that he jumps; the touch is honestly a bit surprising, although he doesn’t mind much. He’s come back to himself enough he doesn’t mind. “Yeah?” He glances over his shoulder, and Tim buries his face against the back of Jon’s shoulder.

“… thanks. Jon.”

Oh. There’s an odd sensation stuck in his throat, the same thing that's been there since Danny had disappeared. He tries to swallow it away, and turns his head to look over his shoulder. “Yeah. I mean, I didn’t really do anything.”

“You did.” Tim doesn’t lift his head. All Jon can really see is blonde hair, plastered to his head from the water. Whatever expression is on his face isn’t for Jon. “More… more than anyone else, anyway.”

“Propositioned you for sex,” Jon says, deadpan, because that’s… easier. He doesn’t want to dwell, and he doesn’t want Tim to, either.

It works, because Tim chuckles. “Yeah, that. I’ve taught you well.”

“Right.”

“If you’ve come down enough, do you want to– bed? Nap? Or just sleep, I guess. It’s late enough, right?”

“Yes,” Jon says, because even if it wasn’t, he’d be taking a nap, anyway. “Running low on sleep lately, anyway.” It’s the wrong thing to say.

“Yeah,” Tim replies, and does sound a little distant again. “Tell me about it.”

Jon cringes, and curses himself. So he knows he can’t chase away Tim’s trauma forever. He doesn’t think Tim’s even begun to process, if he’s being honest, and he just… hasn’t let himself have time to grieve. He’ll have to do it, eventually, right? (He’d been told that before, himself.) But he’ll keep chasing the smile as much as he can.

When Tim straightens up, Jon turns around to kiss him.

When they break, an extended handful of seconds later, Tim’s looking a little dazed again. He mutters “two for two” under his breath and Jon is _ again _ proud he’s able to distract him like that, if only for now. Even so.

They settle into bed again. The sheets aren’t abhorrent and Tim tugs him loosely against his chest to hold there, an arm around his shoulders. He occasionally toys with Jon’s hair, and Jon wonders if it’s possible to _ spoon _ someone who’s physically larger. He doesn’t think he’ll try, just now.

Instead, he carefully reaches to take Tim’s hand. Just the one, resting his palm over the back of it. That’s all. A quiet little test of his own regard.

Tim’s the one who threads their fingers together, and Jon breathes out a tiny sigh of relief.

He isn’t sure who drifts off first, really– the exhaustion hits like a truck, after sex– but Jon’s certain that it’s the best night’s sleep either of them have had in weeks. He allows himself that flight of fancy, and lets, for the time being, the two of them be okay together. 

**Author's Note:**

> they're both awkward as hell -- Jon's out of his territory but genuinely does enjoy himself, Tim's still grieving and unable to let himself feel that -- but hey! they really do go together well. he gets him to smile, even for a little bit sobs


End file.
